


we choose our fights

by malvina_helia



Category: Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, POV First Person, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-23 20:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malvina_helia/pseuds/malvina_helia
Summary: "I’m sitting in my armchair when you come bursting through the door. I don’t put down the book I’m reading, just peer over its top, sending a searching look your way. Your hair, that you had oh-so-carefully did up in the morning, is a mess. Your make-up is smeared in the corner of your eyes, and you are out of breath from the stairs you had to take. You are wet to the bone. You put down your purse on the table next to the door and take off your coat. Your gaze finally falls on me. Your eyes tell a thousand stories about your day."





	we choose our fights

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt word: battle

I’m sitting in my armchair when you come bursting through the door. I don’t put down the book I’m reading, just peer over its top, sending a searching look your way. Your hair, that you had oh-so-carefully did up in the morning, is a mess. Your make-up is smeared in the corner of your eyes, and you are out of breath from the stairs you had to take. You are wet to the bone. You put down your purse on the table next to the door and take off your coat. Your gaze finally falls on me. Your eyes tell a thousand stories about your day.

There was the morning. You walked to the coffee shop on the corner, your favourite place, but because I forgot to wake you up, you didn’t get there before the shift change; the rude guy was behind the counter, the one that always messes up your order. It’s revenge, you insist because you rejected him that one time. But you didn’t make a fuss about your messed-up order, because you don’t have the time for that in the morning.

Then the bus didn’t come on time, and you were late for a meeting. First, you got scolded by your project manager; later, you ran into your boss in the corridor, and he said something along the lines of: “I expect more from you” or “Next time, I won’t be this easy on you” or “I thought you were better than this.” You, of course, let this get to you (you never took criticism well), but you don’t say a word, even though the sounds of protest almost come tumbling out of your lips, screaming it in your bosses face, that “If you opened your eyes, you would see that I do more for this damned company than it deserves!” But you stay silent, how could you not? You didn’t work this hard for years to lose this position just because your boss is being a dick.

You met up with your mother during your lunch break. You went to the restaurant near your workplace. First, she mentions (in front of the waiter), all casually, that “In this age, you should be watching your weight”, so you reluctantly order a salad. Then she asks about our relationship, she starts criticising me, that she never wanted us to get married, that I don’t work enough, and even if I do, I’m a nobody. That she wants a grandchild, she won’t get younger, and neither won’t you. And you get pissed again; you want to protect me, yourself, our love. Because you love me more than anything, even if I don’t get paid as much as you, even if I work odd jobs. We can’t have a child yet, even though both of us wants to. And then you remember, as always when this comes up, that at the end of the day she is your mother, and that she is worried, and I really don’t get paid nearly as much as you. And it really wouldn’t make sense starting a fight with her, because she always wins. And she is old and has to take heart medicine, and it really isn’t worth that much to start a fight over. So you bottle this one up, too, you don’t say a word; just let her bash everything that you are proud of, everything that we’ve built together, our life. You reassure yourself with the thought that you only have to meet her once a month, but as soon as you realize how this sounds, you start to feel guilty. Guilty, because you love her and you don’t know how long she’ll be with you. You try to pay attention to what she is talking about, then you stir the conversation to a more neutral ground. “What do you think about the weather?” You offer a truce. And even if it hurts you that it’s your mother that you can’t be more personal with, it also lifts a weight off your shoulder that you don’t have to mention that I’m out of a job again.

After lunch, you go back to work and try to survive the afternoon. You stay far away from your boss’s office, to the point that it makes you skittish, which in turn just makes you angrier. You almost start shouting at your secretary, who mixes up two folders on the ‘IMPORTANT’ shelf but hold yourself back. It isn’t her fault. And she is pregnant, you can’t predict what it would make her do, and a crying woman is the last thing you want to deal with on a day like this. This reminds you of the conversation you had with your mother. You think: “She is right, we really should have a child by now.” We’ve known each other for more than ten years and have been together for almost that long. We only got married a year ago, that’s true, but that’s only a paper, for the sake of it, it doesn’t change much. We’ve been prepared to have a baby for a long time now. Then why the hell do we not have one yet? Maybe I don’t love you as much anymore as you thought before? Your mother might be right, you won’t get younger, and you put on some weight in the last few months, because of the stress. Did I notice that? Is this why I don’t like you anymore? Could it be…? But you get distracted by work, and you soon forget what made you so worked up.

Work’s finally over, and you take off. Of course it rains on the day when you leave your umbrella in your office. The bus is late again, so you stand around for ten minutes at a stop that doesn’t have a cover. You are not just soaked, your start to feel a headache too. The bus finally arrives, it’s of course packed. You squeeze between a smelly man and a woman who is shouting into her phone. You silently pray this wretched day finally comes to an end, even though the clock hasn’t struck five yet. When you get off the bus, it’s raining more than ever. You run a block to our building. When you arrive in the lobby, you remember that the elevator hasn’t been working for weeks now and walking up to the fourth floor would be hell after a day like this. Even though we chose this building especially because it has an elevator. You told the landlord it didn't work on the day it stopped, asked him to repair it. And you brought it up again at the monthly community meeting, but nobody listens to you, and they keep putting it off, and you are pissed again, but there is no one you could shout at right now. You climb the four floors, open the door, almost calm again, when your eyes land on me, as I sit in my armchair, reading with the peace of those who don’t have to worry about their job. And you worked all day to put a meal on our table, and I can’t even make myself to find a job. And now you don’t hold back, the day’s pent up anger just bursts out and you are yelling at me, even though you haven’t even got to the living room, and your heels are still on your feet and you are standing in a puddle. You haven’t even closed the door yet; the whole floor is listening to you, but you don’t care, not anymore. You can’t keep it in yourself.

You had a smile for everybody else, but your patience has its limits. You wasted it on strangers. You throw everything at me, everything that you can think of, and you don’t catch yourself soon enough to realize you are echoing everything that your mother said. And I just let you yell at me. Because you are right, because you deserve to yell at someone. Because if I’m not good for anything else, at least I’m good for this. Because you decided to choose this battle, and I give myself up to you.


End file.
